


Guardian

by Pearls1975



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Language, Non-Graphic Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-25
Updated: 2013-03-21
Packaged: 2017-11-15 01:29:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/521652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pearls1975/pseuds/Pearls1975
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg Lestrade was an above average Metropolitan Police man with an average life when the decision to help another changes his life forever. Based on this post at Tumblr: http://sashkash.tumblr.com/post/29730265998</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Havoc

**Author's Note:**

> I have received kudos from the artist for my fiction, so I am publishing it here. Go and give her kudos on her work as well!!

“I'll pick some up on my way home.” Greg Lestrade said goodbye to his wife and hit the end button on his phone. The sun was just breaking through the gray clouds that had just brought rain, and Greg slipped his phone in his pocket as he walked the short distance from his car to the market. 

“You! Hey punk! Get back here!” 

Greg heard the angry voice as it echoed down the alleyway he had just passed. He turned around and looked down the alley, and saw only a man with a black hooded sweatshirt under a suit-jacket and his hands stuffed into black jeans, walking fast. Lestrade watched the man for a moment, making sure that everything was okay. Satisfied that no one was chasing this man, Lestrade continued on to the market.

A different scene met Lestrade's eyes when he walked out of the market fifteen minutes later and looked down the alley. Three men were standing around the man he saw earlier, kicking and yelling at him. The officer was stunned at first, not believing what he was seeing; not believing that any one else wasn't there breaking it up. His cop instinct kicked in as he dropped the groceries and ran full sprint and yelling down the alley. Two of the men kicked one last time before running. One stayed behind, too high to notice that his friends had ran off. Greg grabbed the man and threw him off the figure laying on the concrete. As he bent over the figure, the other man grabbed Lestrade by the back of his collar and threw a sloppy punch that was easily blocked. Greg threw his own left-hook that set the other man on his back. Stunned and bleeding and too high to care how much he was bleeding, the man got up and ran toward the end of the alley, then turned to the right and ran. Greg held his wrist as his knuckles throbbed. He hadn't punched anyone for a couple years and he forgotten the amount of pain involved. Clenching his jaw, he managed to grab his phone out of his jacket pocket and called an ambulance. Then he called his division sergeant and gave him a brief description of the three thugs. He was kneeling beside the man when he ended the call. The others breathing was labored as he groaned.

“I'm getting you help buddy, just take it easy.” Greg said as he took the man's pulse, which was faster than usual. “Who are you? What's your name?” 

“Ho-me-...” Was all that the man managed to say before grimacing in pain. His dark curls were matted against his head and his left eye was starting to swell. 

“No, you're going to a hospital...” The officer paused as he patted the man's jacket for any identification or a wallet and found something hard in one of the pockets. He grabbed his handkerchief out of the inside of his jacket and carefully pulled out a wooden box. It was long and ornate and dark green. Lestrade opened the box and found that it was lined on the inside with ivory velvet and lying in that velvet was a metal syringe and a small bottle full of a milky substance that Greg was pretty sure was cocaine. 

“Shit.” The officer rubbed his forehead.

“No...please...” The man tried to grab the paraphernalia from Greg's hand, without success. “I-I need...that...need...” His light blue eyes were fixed on Greg's brown ones and Lestrade took a deep breath. He knew that look. It was the look of an addict, the look of pleading, the look of needing that next fix.

“Alright, just calm down. I'm getting you some help. What is your name?”

“Need...to stop...the...pain...” The other curled in on himself and went into a coughing fit. He groaned loudly as Lestrade caught a glimpse of something white sticking out of the man's back pocket. With handkerchief in hand, he reached for the back pocket.

A lump formed in the back of his throat as Greg recognized the laminated card as the I.D. of a government official.

“Mycroft Holmes.”

“No...I-”

The man was interrupted by shouts as the paramedics ran towards them. Greg slipped the box into his jacket pocket. 

“What's his name?”

“What happened to him?”

“Do you know him?”

“He was in a fight and I broke it up.” Lestrade answered them as he stood back.

“Broken ribs, arm is fractured, possibly broken...”

“What's his name?”

“I dunno, but this was in his pocket.” Lestrade held the I.D for the paramedic to see. He raised his eyebrows after reading. 

“You might want to call that number immediately. That's a very powerful man there.” 

Lestrade sighed as he watched the paramedics sedate the man and lift him onto a stretcher. He turned the I.D. In his hand and saw a number on the back. Lestrade squeezed his eyes shut. What the hell had he gotten himself into?

Twenty minutes later, Greg sat in his car, listening to the rain and talking to his wife. He held the card in one hand as he hung up. Greg wasn't sure how far into the government this man was involved and he didn't want to screw his chances of getting promoted.

He groaned and dialed the number.

“Mycroft Holmes speaking.” The voice on the other line was impatient.

“Um...Good evening Mr. Holmes. This is Officer Lestrade calling on behalf of the Metropolitan Police. Your government identification was retrieved today from a...”

“Is he okay?” 

Lestrade blinked. “I...er...he's been taken to the hospital, sir.” 

The officer pressed his phone closer to his ear, then pulled it away and looked at it to make sure he hadn't been disconnected. 

“Sir?”

The man on the other end cleared his throat. “Yes, thank you Mr...?”

“Lestrade. Greg Lestrade.” 

“Thank you, Mr. Lestrade.” 

The line went quiet and Greg leaned his forehead against the steering wheel. 

 

The next couple days were filled with finding the thugs that Greg saw in the alley-way, amongst paper-work and soccer games. When Friday came, he was exhausted and all he wanted was to go home and curl up with his wife and fall asleep until Sunday. As he cleared the last bit of important paper-work out of his in-box, Greg spotted the dark green box that he pulled out of the man's jacket. He blew out a loud breath and wiped his face in frustration. He wondered how that escaped him and the hundreds of people that passed by his desk. It had to have been hanging out above paper-work at some point, he thought. 

Another thought crossed his mind: Who was the man that he rescued in the alley? The I.D left in the man's back pocket definitely wasn't him. Greg had heard the name Mycroft Holmes whispered in meetings and once in a great while on the news, but he really had no clue who he was. 

Greg finally resigned himself to go to the hospital. He had followed the ambulance that night and helped get the man checked in. He chatted with the nurses to get an idea of the extent of his injuries. They told him at first examination, they looked pretty bad. They hadn't taken x-rays at that point yet and Greg had been too exhausted to stay. 

Now, as he asked for the attending nurse, she happened to walk around the corner. She had a round face and fiery red hair with lots of freckles and the sweetest disposition Greg had ever encountered. 

“Oh, Officer Lestrade!” She seemed to light up at seeing him. “Back so soon?” 

“I wanted to see the boy before my weekend holiday.” 

“Oh, he'll live.” Nurse Lewis hugged the chart she was carrying to her chest. “He's very lucky you were around.” 

Greg ran his hand through his salt and pepper hair. “I wanted to let everyone know that we caught the punks last night and this morning. They were part of a small street gang that will be disbanded by the end of this weekend.” 

The woman's smile was large and contagious. “Oh, that is very good news! Listen, I was going to make my rounds on this floor, but I'm going to make an exception. Follow me and I'll take you to the boy's room.” 

Greg raised an eyebrow and hesitated for a beat before following the nurse. 

“I don't understand. He's not on this floor?” He asked as he watched the nurse push the fourth floor button on the elevator. 

“Oh, no,” she started as she stepped into the elevator when the doors opened. Greg followed her. “Apparently he's not some ordinary street hooligan, or even part of any gang.”

Greg bit his lip, deep in thought. 

“We received a call later that night and the next thing you know, he's moved to a nice private room and receiving the best care we have.” The elevator reached the designated floor and she paused when the doors opened. “But it's all hush-hush mind you.” She held a finger to her lips.

“Ah, okay.” He said as he followed her out of the elevator. “That's strange.” 

“But it's alright. Mycroft was asking about you and I told him that you were a very brave man.” 

“Oh, thanks,” he said as he looked around. He had never seen this floor of the hospital, which was basically reserved for VIP's and some government officials. He raised his eyebrows as they approached a door that was guarded by a man with a black suit. Greg saw the earpiece and the bored but alert in the man's eyes. It was an all too familiar look in most bodyguards eyes. 

“This is Greg Lestrade,” she said to the guard. 

“Sir, Mr. Lestrade is here, along with the nurse.” The bodyguard said into a small mic attached to his jacket. There was a pause and the man nodded and opened the door. 

It was an unusually sunny day and the sun was streaming through a break in the curtains. It was, however the only light in the room and Greg had to blink and rub his eyes a couple times to adjust. 

“Mr. Holmes sir, I'm sorry to disturb you...”

“It's fine, Kate, come in.” Mycroft said after clearing his throat. He turned and stood. “Mr Lestrade-”

“Greg, you can call me Greg.” 

“Greg,” Mycroft said the name as if testing the word on his lips. “Thank you for helping my brother.”

“Oh, he's your brother?” Greg could see the dark circles under Mycrofts eyes and he appeared a bit disheveled. “I'm glad I could help.”

“Do you know who I am, Mr. Lestrade?” Mycroft crossed his arms. 

“I'm sorry to say that I don't.” Greg rubbed the back of his neck in a nervous gesture. He watched the nurse, Kate, check all of the boys vitals and fluids. 

“I am an integral part of the British Government-”

“He is the British Government...” The voice came from the bed as Mycroft turned and addressed his brother. 

“Well, glad to see you back with the living, Sherlock.” 

“Barely...” 

“Shh...you need to rest some more.” Kate rested her hand on Sherlocks arm. “You have some very bad injuries-”

“Thank you I...” Sherlock paused and squeezed his eyes shut as he fought back the pain. “I think I can asses my own injuries.” He moved his left hand, since his right was in a splint, to look for something. 

“Brother, dear, you know I can't allow you to have morphine, or any other addictive painkillers. So you can stop looking.” 

Greg watched as Sherlock clenched his jaw. 

“Sir, there is something I need to talk to you about, in private.” 

“I can leave,” Kate started, but Greg interrupted her. 

“I-...it's not you I'm worried about-”

“I'm not a little kid-...ggnnnn....” Sherlock's sentence ended in a painful groan. 

“Is there anything I can give him?” Kate's eyes were full of worry.

“Yes, the least addictive painkiller you have.” Then Mycroft turned to Greg. “Let's talk in the restroom.” He gestured as Greg went into the tiny room. Mycroft closed the door behind him. 

“I wanted to show you this.” Greg reached into his inside jacket pocket and pulled out the green box. 

Greg saw a fleeting look of sadness come across Mycrofts face before it returned to the stoic mask he had been wearing since Greg walked in. He raised his chin and exhaled loudly through his nose. 

“I was wondering where that ended up. I was afraid one of the paramedics had confiscated it and used it for their own purposes.”

“I take it your brother has a problem?” 

“He has – he is a genius that needs constant attention. He told me once that his mind is like a rocket that is trying to take off, but explodes at the launching pad when he doesn't have any stimulation. He told me the cocaine keeps him from...killing himself from boredom.” 

Greg blinked. “Has he seen a therapist, or anything of the like?”

Mycroft waved him off. “Therapists are over paid babblers.” 

“Well, maybe this is what he needed to stop-”

Mycroft sighed. “I doubt it. He is stubborn.” He paused. “He has a working knowledge of Chemistry and biology and criminal law. He could assist Scotland Yard in their investigations of the serial murders that have been happening lately. You can keep an eye on him, and it would keep him out of my hair.”

“Well, that's something you'll have to arrange wi-...”

“I was hoping you could arrange it with Scotland Yard.”

Lestrade furrowed his brow at Mycroft. “I-I don't understand. I don't work for Scotland Yard.”

Mycroft looked at the box in his hand. “I can pull some strings and get you in there.”

Lestrade looked at the other with disbelief.

“But, if you are not interested, I understand.” Mycrofts eyes moved to look at Greg.

“Um, no, I am interested. I'm just blown away right now.”

“Good. Submit your paper-work to NSY as soon as you can and I will get everything arranged. I will make sure my brother makes a full recovery and he will be working with you as soon as possible.”

“Are you sure he's NSY material? No offense, but they generally like their candidates drug free.”

Mycroft gave a fleeting smile. “None taken. He's not going to work for NSY. He's going to work privately, and you can consult him.”

Lestrade narrowed his eyes at the other man.

“I will submit my paper-work this evening.”

“Good. I look forward to having an intelligent link over there finally.”

Greg Lestrade raised his eyebrow at Mycroft. “Thank you, Mr. Holmes. I look forward to this opportunity.” 

He started out of the small bathroom, when Mycroft suddenly grabbed his arm. “Don't blow this, Greg. I need my lit-...” he paused as if to gather himself. “I need Sherlock to be at his best behavior from here on out. I need you to watch him.”

Lestrade looked down at the hand gripping his upper arm. It was tight, but it didn't hurt and he wasn't letting go. “I-...you can count on me, sir.” He looked straight into Mycrofts dark eyes as he said the words. Mycroft held the serious gaze, then let go of Lestrade's arm. 

“Good.” 

Lestrade nodded as he left the room.


	2. Bright Lights

_'I should have said no,'_ Greg kept repeating to himself. _'I can't let this man buy my way into Scotland Yard. I don't know these people. Do I really need this position as bad as I think?'_

He ran his hand through his hair as he exhaled sharply. Greg stood in front of his locker, staring at it as if it had all the answers in the world. He raised his hand and ran it over the cool metal. It felt real to him, more than what had been happening in the past week; a whirlwind of events that started with him being a good citizen, and a good cop. Now he had the opportunity of being a good Inspector. Was he willing to sacrifice his own morals to take on a new position? And take care of a recovering addict at the same time? 

Greg Lestrade groaned and opened the locker. His wife and their youngest boy, 16 month at the time the picture was taken a year ago, smiled out at him. He smiled back, thinking about his oldest, Conner, a very precocious five year old boy. Closing his eyes, he thought about the soccer games and the past five years with his wife, and how much he loved his family. So much so, that it wasn't worth sacrificing his morals, possibly even the position. He opened his eyes and touched the photo and made up his mind. 

“Hello, Mycroft Holmes? This is Greg Lestr-” 

“You haven’t turned in your paper-work. I've been looking forward to reading your resume.” 

Greg was flabbergasted. He opened his mouth to say something, but all that came out was a squeak. 

“I'm sorry, you said you were looking forward to reading my papers?” He said when he recovered.

“Yes, you seem to be a fine and honest man, and I think you would make a great addition to the Scotland Yard team.” 

“I-...” Greg, ran his hand through his hair as he paced in front of his locker.

“Plus, I think you'll be good for Sherlock. Put him in his place and all that.” Mycroft paused. “You are clean, aren't you Mr. Lestrade? I would hate to put an addict in charge of my addict little brother.” 

And there it was. The truth of the whole relationship between the two men. 

“Listen, I wanted to talk to you about all that, if you have time.” 

“Hum, yes. Go outside and wait. A car will be there in ten minutes to pick you up.”

Lestrade pushed the end button and shook his head as he looked at his phone. 

_'How does he know where I am?'_

A chill ran down his back as he closed and locked his locker and walked out of the room. 

 

Exactly ten minutes later, a sleek black car pulled up to the curb in front of Lestrade. The windows were tinted, but the passenger side door opened and a man in a nondescript black suit stepped out and walked around to the officers side and opened the door for him. At second glance, Lestrade saw that he was the bodyguard that had been standing at the hospital door earlier that day.

_'Wonder if there is someone there now, or just when Mycroft is there.'_ Lestrade thought as he nodded at the man and stepped into the posh car. 

The ride was silent except for the small talk that Lestrade attempted and abandoned when the two men in the front seat weren't biting. 

It wasn't until Lestrade stepped out of the car that he realized that he was in a very rich part of town, and he suddenly felt uncomfortable. The sun had just set and a chill had settled in as Lestrade pulled his jacket closer to himself. The two men gestured for him to follow them to a large two-story flat that was white and very overstated on the outside. Black wrought iron fencing surrounded the building and the red door seemed out of place with everything.

The two men lead him through the flat that was as overstated on the inside. A grand staircase met him in the foyer and a gaudy gold chandelier hung from the ceiling. 

“Mr. Holmes sir,” the bodyguard said after opening a door to Lestrade's left. “Mr. Lestrade is here.”

“Yes, send him in.”

Lestrade acknowledged the bodyguard and walked into the cozy sitting room. He stopped just inside the doorway, taking in the contradiction that was this room. The air smelled of cloves, the lighting was muted and countless numbers of books in countless amounts of bookcases. Scarlet drapes hung in front of the floor to ceiling windows and a small fire was burning in the fire place.

“Did you bring your resume?” Mycroft was standing in front of one of the windows, watching the twilight descend upon the city.

“Er...” Lestrade sent the other a confused look. Mycroft turned when Lestrade didn't answer him right away. 

“Too bad,” Mycroft took the last drink of his scotch and contemplated the ice cubes in his glass. “Was there something on your mind, Mr. Lestrade?”

“Well, I wanted to talk to you about that position at Scotland Yard...”

“It's a posh position and an opportunity you would regret if you passed it up. I've told you that I want to see you there.” Mycroft walked over to a side table and refreshed his drink. He turned to Lestrade and offered him a drink. Lestrade declined.

“I just don't feel this is the right time for me to be there.” Lestrade watched as Mycrofts eyebrow went up in surprise, and went on. “I want to work my way in. Not get bought. I'll collaborate with them on this case, but I want to get into the Yard on my terms. Not someone else's.” 

Mycroft only blinked at the officer. No one ever challenged Mycroft Holmes. This officer was going to be tough, and Mycroft enjoyed a challenge. He played with the rim of his glass. 

“I see.” 

Lestrade cocked his head and furrowed his brow at the other man. 

“Alright, I will inform my sources at Scotland Yard of what is going to happen. In the meantime, I want to see your paper-work. I would like them to see your credentials. Also, as soon as he is out of the hospital, I am going to set up a rehab program for Sherlock. I would like you to be a part of it, if you don't mind.”

“Why me?”

“Because you...” Mycroft pursed his lips. He wasn't used to being challenged and he had to resist the urge to say the first thing that came out of his mouth. This situation, however, caught him off guard; he didn't have to edit himself.

“Because you reached out to him. You helped him in that alley. I believe you can help him kick his habit.” Mycroft took a drink.

“I've never dealt with addicts, outside the fact I'm either arresting them, or helping their family or friends arrest them.”

“You won't have to deal with the addiction directly. I'm hoping you can keep him busy with this case. Keep his mind active, puzzling over clues and evidence.”

Greg worried his bottom lip. “Civilians aren't supposed to handle the evidence.”

Mycroft cocked an eyebrow. “We'll make sure that he fits in at Scotland Yard. Make sure that everyone likes him, or at least puts up with him.” 

Greg sighed. “I guess I can do that.” 

“Good,” Mycroft took another drink as he walked over to the sideboard to the officers left. He picked up a manilla envelope ans handed it to Greg. “The details of this new case are all in here. The Yard is stumped and looking for fresh eyes to look at the case and all of the evidence.” 

He flipped through the file. It was fairly thick and ridiculously detailed. “It looks like they've covered everything.” 

“That's why they need a fresh perspective.” Mycroft held up his glass to the other man. “Are you sure you won't have a drink?” 

Greg pursed his lips. He knew he was already in good favor with this man. But he had no idea who he was, or what he did. He would have to call his wife, who was already stressed about the current case and Greg's well-being.

“I've already had my men call your wife. She wasn't happy, but she was understanding. She doesn't seem very keen about your profession Greg. Do you want me to keep an eye on her?” 

“What? No. Thank you.” Greg slammed the folder down on the end table closest to him. “I don't appreciate your presumptuous nature.” 

“That's too bad. You should keep a close eye on her.” 

Greg was almost out of the room when he stopped and turned and narrowed his eyes at the other man. 

“What do you know?” 

“I know everything. It is my business to know. I am a major player in the British Government after all.” Mycroft took a drink. 

“Is that a threat?” Greg said as he crossed his arms. 

“No. Drink?” Mycroft gave the man a small smile as he poured the second drink. Then he walked back to the window, watching the evening traffic wind it's way through London. “It'll be there when you are ready.”

Greg swore under his breath. It was the opportunity of a lifetime. He just wasn't comfortable knowing he was being watched twenty-four-seven. Closing his eyes and licking his lips, he turned his head up to the ceiling. He wasn't a strongly religious man, but he was hoping for a sign to push him in the right direction. 

As if on cue, the bodyguard burst through the door. 

“Sir! Sherlock has relapsed!”


	3. Beautiful Lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft stared at the business card and then looked up at Sherlock in the room. He was lying still, only testing the straps every once in a while. The elder Holmes pursed his lips as he thought back to another incident involving their grandfather and a bed with leather straps. It was the only time Mycroft had ever seen his grandfather on his mother’s side and it was also the last.

“What the hell is going on here?” Mycroft Holmes' voice could be heard as Greg Lestrade rounded the corner. What Greg saw was a frenzy of nurses holding Mycroft back from Sherlock's room and Sherlock struggling in his room against the leather straps holding him down. Nurse Zoe Lewis was in the room along with a couple other nurses who were adjusting the straps. Greg could hear Sherlock yelling and he could see Zoe trying her best to calm him down.

“You can't be here!” A nurse held up her hands as Lestrade approached. He dug out his Police I.D. As Mycroft turned his head and spoke.

“He's with me.”

The nurse sighed and examined Lestrade's I.D.

“I demand to know what is going on.” Mycroft said through clenched teeth. “Why is my brother strapped down against his will?”

“Sir, your brother was acting violently and-”

“Mr. Holmes, sir,” A breathless Nurse Lewis burst through the door of Sherlock's room. “I tried getting a hold of you personally to avoid this, but no one would let me through to you. I apologize sir.”

Lestrade swallowed hard as Mycroft shot a deadly look at his assistant. 

“Sir, you were in with-”

“I don't care!” Mycroft's voice echoed through the hall.

“Mycroft! Tell them to release me!” Sherlock's voice could be heard from the room.

The elder Holmes glanced at his brother and drew in a deep breath, then turned to his assistant. “You are dismissed.”

The assistant blinked. “Sir, I'm sorry but-”

“Just leave.” Mycroft said through clenched teeth.

The assistant mumbled something under his breath and turned and walked away.

Greg rubbed the back of his neck in a nervous gesture as Mycroft turned to the nurse.

“I apologize for that. Tell me, Miss Lewis, what is going on with Sherlock.”

“Sir, he had a violent reaction to one of the meds we gave him as part of the detox process. Most patients have a mild reaction and my people can handle the patient.” The nurse paused and glanced at Sherlock who had stopped struggling and was giving his older brother a threatening stare. “Your brother, however, had a reaction that we have never seen. And I am afraid to go on with the detox. I have hesitated to tell you this, but he has been a very difficult patient.”

“Yes, he can be a difficult person most days.”

Nurse Lewis and Lestrade both raised their eyebrows in surprise. When Mycroft didn't go on, she continued.

“Sir, if his violence continues, I'm afraid I'll have to recommend another facility that can handle cases like his.”

“How far are you with the treatments, and how long do you think until he is completely detoxed?”

“That's the thing, Mr. Holmes,” Zoe paused again. “I personally believe he's completely detoxed from the actual drug. He needs to break from it mentally. He keeps saying that his brain needs stimulation that it's like a racing engine in a vehicle that isn't moving. He is going to burn himself out.”

Mycroft smirked. “He is smart and needs something to keep him occupied constantly.”

“Sir?”

“What is this facility that you recommend?”

Lewis dug in her pockets and took out a business card and handed it to Mycroft. Lestrade stepped forward to read it over his shoulder.

“It's a very good facility, sir. Their patients are allowed to interact with each other and the ones that are able can go outside into their garden area.”

“Those that are able?”

She hesitated for a second and Lestrade spoke up.

“I've had to put some of the people that we convict into that facility. It's for pretty extreme cases though. Is Sherlock to that point?”

“He...this place will give him the stimulation he needs until they can get him past the mental addiction.”

“What do you mean extreme cases?” Mycroft directed his question to Lestrade.

“Well, the ones we send have been addicted to one drug or another pretty much their whole lives. Ninety percent have come out and lived normal healthy lives and haven't touched any drugs since.”

“And the other ten percent?”

“Are homeless and or don't have any support outside of the facility.”

“They are a permanent part of the place.” Nurse Lewis put in. “The facility supplies everything the patients need and money comes from private organizations and donations.”

Mycroft stared at the business card and then looked up at Sherlock in the room. He was lying still, only testing the straps every once in a while. The elder Holmes pursed his lips as he thought back to another incident involving their grandfather and a bed with leather straps. It was the only time Mycroft had ever seen his grandfather on his mother’s side and it was also the last.

“Sir?”

“Mycroft?” Greg touched his elbow softly. “Everything alright?”

Mycroft sighed as he looked over and saw the genuine concern in Lestrade's brown eyes.

“Yes, I am fine.” He cleared his throat and pulled on his vest. “We will try the facility.” 

'It's going to break him.' Mycroft mumbled as he walked towards the room. Zoe and Greg glanced at each other uncomfortably, and then watched as Mycroft entered Sherlock's room.

“Mycroft, you have to get me out of here!” Sherlock said through clenched teeth. “I can't handle these bores.”

“Sherlock, I am getting you out of here. But you must promise me that you will not use again.”

“I-...I can't make that promise.” Sherlock turned away from his brother’s gaze.

“I must have your promise. I am sending you to another facility that the nurse and Greg have recommended.”

Sherlock howled. “I can't go to another facility! They will tie me up like a wild animal!” He wriggled his hands for emphasis.

“This is a completely different facility. You'll have more freedoms and will be able to keep that genius brain of yours busy. I can't afford to have you turn to the drugs again.”

“Ha! Can't afford, or your image will suffer?”

“Sherlock, please,” Mycroft took a deep breath. “Sherlock, despite what you may think, or what I say and do to you, I love you and you will always be my genius little brother. I wish you would use that genius for a greater purpose.”

Sherlock contemplated his older brother before he spoke. “What sort of purpose did you have in mind?”

Mycroft glanced up at Zoe and Greg who had been observing them. “Greg Lestrade is an officer of the law who is going to assist Scotland Yard with a couple of murders that have Scotland Yard baffled-"

"Lost dogs baffle Scotland Yard." Sherlock mumbled.

"I want you to assist Greg.”

“Why?”

“He saved your life.”

Sherlock furrowed his brow as he turned to look out at Greg who was chatting with Zoe. He exhaled loudly. This was why he stayed detached, away from human relationships; he didn't want to owe anyone anything, much less his own life.

“Ugh, fine.” Sherlock pouted.

Mycroft pursed his lips. He recognized this state of Sherlock's mood and he knew his younger brother would be compliant, but he would put up a fight the whole way.

“Thank you, Sherlock.”

Sherlock grunted his response.

“Miss Lewis,” Mycroft said when he stepped out of the room. “Please take the restraints off my brother. He will not need them.”

Both Greg and Zoe glanced into the room and saw a calm Sherlock Holmes, resting on his bed.

“How...?” Zoe started.

“I wish to move Sherlock to the new facility as soon as possible. I will have my assistant...” Mycroft paused and realized he was going to have to hire a new assistant. “I will make arrangements with the new facility.”

“I will prep the paperwork to release Sherlock into their care.”

“Thank you, Miss Lewis,” Mycroft shook hands with her. “I appreciate your discretion and care with my brother. You have been more than kind and generous.”

“Of course, Mr. Holmes,” she smiled a small smile. “I'll talk with you soon.”

She nodded at Lestrade and they watched her as she walked into Sherlock's room and unbuckled the restraints. Sherlock rubbed his wrists and sat up.

“I'm sorry we had to restrain you but it-”

“It was for my own good blah blah blah...I get it.” He stopped and looked up at Zoe's pained face and sighed. “I...thank you.”

She nodded and walked out of the room.

 

“Are you still with me on this, Lestrade?” Mycroft asked when they were in the car and pulling away from the curb.

“Yes sir,” Greg answered. “What did you tell Sherlock about me?”

Mycroft looked over at the officer with a furrowed brow. “That you saved his life.”

Greg's heart suddenly felt heavier. He had saved plenty of lives before. Why did this one affect him so?

“I need a new assistant. If you know of anyone that would be appropriate, will you please let me know?”

“Yeah, sure.” Greg ran his hand through his hair.

“Greg, I know that all this seems surreal right now. I don't plan on keeping Sherlock in the new facility for long. In fact if I can help it, I want to have him in his own flat shortly.”

“Yes, that would make it easier to consult with him.”

Greg looked out of the window at the passing London scenery as he thought of the day’s events and realized how exhausted he was. He rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand when he heard Mycroft softly clear his throat.

“I...want to thank you, Greg.” Lestrade was taken aback at the vulnerable look in Mycroft’s eyes. “This isn't the first time this has happened. He almost died in another attack some time ago. I'm glad you were there when you were.”

“Ah, yes, I am too.”

Mycroft smiled a small smile which faded quickly as he turned back to his phone.

Greg closed his eyes tightly.

'What the hell have I gotten myself into?'


End file.
